Is There Anyone There?
by idevourbooks
Summary: Me: troublemaker, orphan, unwanted, alone. My temporary home: a mansion, gothic, large, creepy. And quite possibly haunted.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

**Well, this came to me a while ago, and I just freaking love this idea, so here it is. I was having trouble with writing the next chapter for 'Waiting Here' (check it out if you haven't already ; )) so I decided to finish up this sweet thang for you guys since I felt bad I'm not updating - also, I needed some inspiration... anywho... don't expect this to be some long chapter that automatically has a ton of action, because guess what? It's the first chapter. They're ALWAYS slow (unless you're reading Percy Jackson or The Mortal Instruments) so just wait until the next chapter or two before just giving up on this since it's basically an introductory to the setting, characters, and plot (this also goes for every story, too).**

**WARNING: This is rated T for a reason! Some violence, language, and adult themes should be expected in this, so if your five... I don't know what to tell you, honestly.**

**ENJOY!**

**Chapter One**

The worst part is when you arrive.

No, it's not when you're sitting on your horrible excuse for a bed, hearing that unexpected, loud banging on your door before that even more of a horrible excuse for a social worker comes in and orders you to stuff your little belongings into that tiny, beat-up backpack you always used.

No, it's not when she (the social worker, whose name is Angel even though she's nothing of the sort) digs her long-ass nails – that should really be called claws – into your small, grimy wrist as she tugs you in her seven-inch, neon yellow stilettos through the streets of Crocus to the train station.

No, it's not when you have to sit in a train compartment with the narcissistic bitch for three hours and all you have to keep you from dying of boredom is the only book you own (which is by your favorite author, Kemu Zaleon) or gazing out the window as you see the city slowly crumble away from your very eyes as rolling hills take its place and dense forest taking that of the hills.

No, it's none of that. But it's the moment your battered, mud-stained, gum-covered soles of you converse step off of the train and you're bombarded by the sharp smell of pine needles and fresh, morning dew and all you see around you is a whole new world that makes you unsure about the fact if you really want to see it.

A feeling of regret settles in your stomach and you feel like crawling back into that crappy bed back at the orphanage that didn't seem so bad anymore, but you can't and reality hits you like a rush of water as those damn, fake nails of that demonic social worker dig back into the raw skin of your wrist and drag you towards a taxi, where she then shoves you inside and begins to give you an earful of how thankful you should be to her and how you should be kissing her feet for getting you this 'opportunity'.

If you're wondering why I know this, it's because I'm going through it this very second, and with every second that passes by I'm on the verge of either jumping out of the car or strangling that stupid, platinum haired bimbo who just won't _shut up_.

"You know," Angel starts, chewing on her gum like how a cow would chew on grass, "I worked very hard to find someone who would foster you." I roll my eyes in annoyance, _here we go again_, "The last time I got a foster family to take you in, they almost sued us because of that little shenanigan you pulled with lighting the house on fire. And how many years ago was that? Four?"

_Five_, I mentally chide in, having the need to correct the 'demon', "You're lucky someone said yes to you because trust me, with your record, no one would find it in their hearts to take you in. And it's even harder to get girls your age into a foster home – you don't see people allowing random seventeen year olds into their households, do you?"

"No ma'am," I robotically reply, before tuning out the rest of Angel's rant and resting my head on top of my hand that was pressed up against the cool, car glass.

I observe the trees passing by us in a blur of greens and browns with a growing curiosity and can feel my eyes widen in slight shock when a small town suddenly splays out before me. Apparently, we were on the main road as this was the only road I actually spotted people walking in and out of little hole-in-the-walls and grocery stores. A small smirk creeps onto my face as I spot a place called, '_The Book Corner_', which I could only guess was the sole library for miles around here.

Guess I know where I'm going after I ditch this foster home.

"-so don't do anything you'll regret because if you even _think_ about doing _anything_," without warning, Angel's scrunched up face is inches away from mine as she grasps my shoulders tightly, her nails practically breaking through the material of my sweatshirt as her threatening, brown eyes pierce my own, "_I will_ _have your head, ya' hear me?_"

I gulp and feverishly nod at the woman before me, watching as she narrows her eyes suspiciously at me before releasing my aching shoulders and sitting back in her seat, flipping her platinum hair carelessly behind her.

"Good, because we should be arriving soon and I will _not_ tolerate _any_ bad manners from you – even if it's in your nature to be rude, I don't care for _any_ of it, got it?"

I hum a response of accommodation as my attention drifts back towards the window where fat droplets of rain began to splatter against the glass and I was back to square one, staring at more woods. _Where the hell are we? I've never seen so many trees in my entire life…the East Forest? Clover, maybe?_

The taxi's engine whines like a blood hound as we come to a slow stop and I peek through the crack between the driver's seat and the side of the car to the windshield, where I see two large, rusting iron gates that were infested with dark green ivy.

The gates were connected to two, tall and thick, stone pillars that were also decorated with the ivy and they were what seemed like the beginning to a massive, stone wall that looked endless as it extended on either side of the gate for as far as the eye could see.

On the stone pillar to the left, the letters, '**EEL**', were engraved into the rock and were the only thing visible as the rest was hidden under the poisonous vines.

'_EEL'?_ I think, _'EEL' what? Is that part of the address or something? Maybe the property name…?_ Before I can delve any further into my wonderings, the scream of the rusty gates opening fills my ears mixed in with the howl of the taxi accelerating forward, driving us through the gates onto an unpaved road. The gates creak closed behind us and we are greeted by more forest, the lofty pines blocking out a majority of the gray sky so the rain splattered unevenly against the hood of the car.

I continue to gaze out, watching as the woods begin to thin and tall, unkept grass is in its place. In the distance I can see what appears to be a rundown garden, but I never get a good look at the patch of land as the car turns and my head whips around to see a massive, gothic mansion.

It looked a little worn out, its tall, stone walls collecting grime while the windows were just a tad dusty with a few black shingles looking as if loose on the roof. Its two black, front doors taunted me from a far, with large, gold lion knockers centered on each door and two elegant, golden handles and lock – or 'locks', I should really say.

There were at least fifteen keyholes drilled into the door, all different shapes and sizes lining the left door's side, yet they were all the same exact gold, all of them meant for keeping strangers out.

_Or to keep someone in_, the back of my mind whispers to me as I barely process Angel barking at me to get out of the car.

I unconsciously oblige to the 'demon's' orders and pull on the car door's sticky, plastic handle, stumbling out of the yellow cab onto a cobble stone pathway with my faded green, beat up backpack slung carelessly on my shoulders. I pull my black hood farther over my head to block out the rain as I look up at the mansion, peering up at the black, iron spires that sprouted from the apex of every conjoining rooftop of the two wings that extended off of the round center.

I felt small next to the mansion, small and insignificant, both two feelings I have grown all too familiar with over the years. I have to admit, I wasn't exactly feeling brave at the moment, if anything, I was scared – terrified, really. About what, I have no idea, but there was a dank feeling settling deep down in my stomach, and I couldn't place my finger on what it precisely was.

I gulp down my emotions before bringing my attention back down to the entrance of the house and clambering over to the steps leading up to the small, stone porch and before I even reach the first step, the purr of the taxi cab zooming away reaches my ears, leaving me to roll my eyes at the thought of my so-called, 'social worker' – all that woman was good for was nagging.

I sigh and shake the platinum haired wannabe out of my head, returning my attention back to the task at hand. I nibble anxiously on my bottom lip as I hesitantly lift up a clammy, pale hand to the provoking lion knockers, slowly wrapping my hand around the heavy handle and gently letting it fall against the wooden mane of the lion three times, hearing the loud thuds boom throughout the house as easily as if it were hollow.

I take a step back from the doors as shuffling sounds from behind them and not a moment later, a red eye appears from within one of the left lion's. I practically jump out of my skin; almost shrieking before realizing it was only a peep hole as an old, gravelly voice comes from the other side of the doors.

"Who are you and what do you want?" The disembodied voice orders roughly.

I let a small sigh of relief escape my lips before answering, "I'm Lucy," I state just as rough, "the foster kid."

The red eye shrinks a bit as the old lady squints at me with a suspicious glare gleaming in her eye, before a grunt comes from the other side and the eye disappears, replaced by the sound of the many locks sliding open.

The large doors then swing open, revealing a tall, dubious lady with wrinkles outlining her eyes and mouth, telling of a past filled with smiles and happy days, yet her cold, red eyes told of another time that came after and changed all that. She had her thin, cotton candy pink hair up in a tight bun at the top of her head, keeping it held together with a thin golden rod shoved into her bun with two crescent moons on each end.

Her long red skirt whirls around the bottom of her feet as she moves to the side to let me in, giving me the up-down as I take an unsure step forward onto the black and white marble flooring of the foyer.

The foyer, like the rest of the house, was colossal and looked as if it were once grand long ago, though not so much anymore as dust clung to the massive chandelier over our heads and the smell of ancientness clung to the inside of my nostrils with each breath I took.

The foyer was still beautiful, though; the entirety of the walls were covered with a paneled, dark cherry wood and the two grand staircases centered in the middle of the room were made of the same material. The staircases created a crescent-shaped passage underneath them, leading to yet another flight of stairs where I spot stained glass windows leaving colorful shadows against more marble floors. At the top of where the two staircases met, a large oil painting was hung on the wall, yet what was being portrayed was hidden behind the large tears on the canvas.

On my left and right there were entrances to the wings that branched off of the foyer, but I didn't go down either as the lady motioned for me to follow her up the stairs where I couldn't help but let my hand trail along the sleek, glossy, cherry handrails. The top of the stairs then led to two, vast hallways that looked similar to those in the foyer, and I push down the temptation to push up the tears in the large portrait that would reveal the painting as the lady continues down the left half of the long corridor. I quickly follow right behind her, taking in the mansion's beauty and details as she spoke to me.

"My name is Porlyusica," she declares monotonously, "and I expect you to respect the items in this household. I really do not care as to what you do, as long as you do not tarnish anything. There are a few rules I must put out here though," I roll my eyes, _rules… _I internally groan as she continues, partially tuning Porlyusica out as I become absorbed with the masterpieces hanging on the walls.

"Rule number one," she starts with a new firmness to her voice, "do not keep the library windows open. I don't care if it's stuffy in there, don't open the windows.

"Rule number two, lock your door before sleeping. This house does not have any kind of security system installed what-so-ever, so for your safety, please keep the door locked."

I almost snort – my 'safety', she says? Sure – like she'll ever care about what happens to Little Orphan Annie.

"Rule number three, don't go outside at night. I understand people of your age fancy the night for some odd reason, but please do not venture outside – I don't need anyone promoting witchcraft séances in the garden.

"Rule number four, restrain yourself from creating fires. This house is old, and if a spark touches the floor, we're all aflame before you can say 'lawsuit'.

"And lastly, rule number five," Porlyusica stops in front of a door on the right towards the end of the hall, turning on her heel to face me as her red eyes pierce mine with a thick layer of sternness clouding her eyes, with just a sliver of something else I've learned is called 'sincerity' mixed in, "do not sing. It may seem like a rule that will have no consequences if disregarded, but trust me, it's for the better of us all if we don't hear a single note escape those lips of yours."

I can feel the quizzical look pasted on my face as I simply nod at the woman before me, not saying a word as she motions for me to step inside the room we were stopped at.

I take a few unsure steps forward, a little thrown off by Porlyusica's peculiar requests (which I will most likely never comply to), and stride into a bright, light pink room. There was sunlight streaming in through the large windows placed all along one side of the room, where window seats were mounted along the sills of the crystal-clear windows, and a mini chandelier was hanging from the ceiling for when the sunlight couldn't provide light. A white, wooden desk sat right smack in the middle of the wall lined with windows and a matching dresser lay in the same position on the opposite side of the room as the desk. A mirror stood in the corner of the room, with a thick, yellowing tarp thrown over it to cover its reflective surface.

A king sized bed was pressed up against the wall (that, like the rest of the walls, was complete with white crown and foot molding) to my right with a rivulet white comforter spread across it along with pillows ranging from colors of cream to pink decorating the back of the bed. On either side there were two nightstands that were aesthetically carved to perfectly match the headboard and footboard of the bed with lovely, golden lamps placed on each one that were similar to the chandelier on the ceiling.

I gaze around me in wonder, feeling as if in a dream as I walk across the room to the windows, plopping my muddy, green backpack down on the desk's chair as I scrutinize the thick forest that seemingly started right outside the window. The forest was dead-silent and it was dark, the little sunlight barely squeezing through the small cracks the trees' braches formed.

It was all so alien to me. I was used to hearing subways rattling over my head and streetlamps lighting up the night like a parade, and a small, cramped room that held nothing besides a crappy twin bed. It was all so different, so unfamiliar… and yet, there was a part of me that felt as if I've been here before. Walked these halls, stared at these very woods, and even though I can't recall a time in my life when I have, my body felt at ease here, almost… familiar with the mansion.

I'm dragged out of my thoughts by Porlyusica, announcing that this was to be my room and that I was allowed to do as I pleased until eight when we were to have supper in the east wing's (which I can only guess is the wing I was currently in) dining hall. I feel disconnected as I curtly nod at her, staring into the brown orbs that peered back at me from my reflection in the window, searching for the answers to my thoughts and feelings, wondering why I felt as if this place was different than the rest of the foster homes.

I can barely hear Porlyusica leave the room as she moved just as quietly as a mouse, leaving me to ponder my thoughts by myself. There was a feeling in my chest, one that was warm – cozy, almost – and I found that I liked this new feeling. A small smile creeps onto my face as I let out a content sigh, my eyelids fluttering closed as I slowly lift my hands to pull my hood down and undo my messy blonde bun, feeling my knotty hair tumble down onto my shoulders. I cross my arms over my chest and allow my head to roll back in pure relaxation, before I feel my blood run cold as my heart stops.

Someone… had just touched my hair.

I fling my eyelids open and spin around, my hands clutching my hair defensively as my eyes frantically search the room around me, feeling my heart pound harder in my chest as I find out the terrifying truth – there was no one else in the room besides me.

**Author's Note:**

**And that's why you don't do drugs, kiddies. Anyways, I feel like this was a good first chappie, what do you guys think? Good? Bad? YOU DECIDE! (I feel so powerful when I do that XD) **

**Please favorite, follow, or leave a lovely review (constructional criticism is welcome) because you guys influence me to continue doing what I love! Which is write!**

**IMPORTANT: Check out the poll on my profile about what you guys want to see more from me! It's anonymous and anyone can take it (even those without an account), so please leave me your thoughts!**

**Peace!**

**-idevourbooks **


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note:**

**PLEASE. DON'T. KILL. ME.**

**I know I deserve death for leaving you with a massive mass of 'what the fuck' from the first chapter for over a year, which I dearly apologize for! Life's hectic and shit gets in the way - I'm going to be totally honest with you, I wrote this in two days. TWO. DAYS. This is the only time I get a break from life and I took advantage of it, giving me the chance to be able to tell you:**

**Please follow, favorite, and review! And of course...**

**ENJOY!**

**Chapter Two**

The air in the bathroom was thick with steam emitting from the scalding water that filled the porcelain tub to the brim; the water enveloping me with a comforting caress. My head was the sole thing above the surface, allowing me to breathe and keep my stare on the bathroom door that I had ensured was locked before slipping into my bath. There were no clocks inside the bathroom, but if I had to guess at what the time was, I'd say close to midnight for my yawns merely increased in number with each passing second. My body was telling me to sleep, yet I didn't dare to oblige for my mind was still replaying the day's events, leaving me to wonder what would happen if I slept.

To clarify, I am not scared – I know I should be, but for some odd reason, I wasn't. Instead, I am curious – curious about the creature that followed me through the house, whose ebony stare will forever be imprinted on my mind. Their stare that I know followed me throughout the entire day...

_But why? _I think to myself with a furrowed brow, _I don't understand – what's the point in their actions? Why me?_ I begin to nibble on my bottom lip – a habit that I haven't been able to shake off since I was young – while my eyes narrow in thought on the doorknob as if it could provide me with the answers. I soon find out the obvious, though, which is that doorknobs cannot talk and I settle on simply shaking my head out of those thoughts, knowing that if I mulled over my questions any longer I would drive myself insane.

"It's only your imagination," I mumble to myself in an attempt to save my sanity, "it's all just one big illusion you've created in that dull mind of yours… it_ has_ to be."

Seemingly convincing my consciousness for the time being, I take in a deep breath before plunging underneath the water's surface.

**888**

_I ambled slowly down the lengthy hall, my eyes traveling along every crack in the ceiling and following every brushstroke in the paintings that hung on the walls of the hallway. I was in awe of the house – the grandeur of it captured me in ways I didn't know were possible, though as I think back as to where I was a few hours before I understand why I was so absorbed with the structure. It was truly beyond my imaginings._

_Originally, my plan was to remain holed up in my room and unpack while plotting ways of escape until Porlyusica called me to dine, but considering the fact that I had so little to unpack and such a massive curiosity to be fulfilled, I ended up venturing out of my room to scour the place I would be calling 'home' for who knows how long. I had been walking down the hall for what felt like forever – the once young day already burning the last of its light – trying all of the numerous doors that lined it just to find that all of them were locked. Of course this only made me want to enter the rooms even more, but there was no way for me to do so unless I chose to break down the doors that were masterpieces in themselves, so I decided against it – I may have been raised in a filthy, lifeless place, but I still had respect for art. _

_I had admired it frequently, actually, back at the orphanage – though the art I saw was nothing compared to the pieces in here. The ones at the orphanage were done by young prodigies with bottles of spray paint on the brick walls of crumbling, abandoned factories. These opuses were done by professionals – days of someone's life and dedication had obviously gone into each one of the works… I could have only ever dreamed of seeing them._

**_And yet here I am_**_, I think to myself, __**living that dream in a mansion with hair-obsessed creeps.**__ It's safe to say that I was still a bit spooked by the odd occurrence in my bedroom a mere few hours earlier._

_The corridor then opens up to meld into the grand foyer and I soon find myself standing at the top of the stairs, gazing down at the marble floors below me in wonder (and slight fear as to what would happen if I were to fall from this height) before bringing my gaze to the ceiling, where a small dome with a dust covered window in its center allowed natural light to filter in. What held my attention, though, was the mosaic that adorned the dome – it depicted a small section of the night sky to perfection, and I swear I can make out the constellation of Draco in the mass of tiled stars._

_I could have admired the ceiling for hours if it weren't for the cramp developing in my neck from keeping it craned at such an angle, so I reluctantly return my gaze to its regular level, only to have my entire being tense at the new sight before me. I feel my insides coil together tightly as my eyes train on the other hall opposite of the one I just came from – it bore no light fixtures, making it so dark that the end of it was a mere abyss shrouded in shadows, and unlike the other hall, one room was open. The door was left gaping wide, letting the moon's light to spill through and stain the floor with light… along with the silhouette of a man whose ebony eyes that bore into my own were the single thing visible on his frame. I suck in a breath, my heart leaping in my chest as they hold my stare with their intense one, keeping me locked in place as I lose myself in the pools of night, even as they disappear into the room, their stare beckoning me to follow._

_It feels as if I have no control over my own body as I step away from the stairs, my legs taking me to the stranger on their own accord. The back of my mind is screaming in denial – arguing that I had no clue as to whom this person was and that following them into a dark room was probably not the best idea I've had. I don't listen to that little voice, though, I ignore it's pleas as I continue towards my destination. I cross over the invisible boundary separating light from dark into the gloomy hall and pause for a moment, the reality of what I was doing finally catching up to me as the darkness licks hungrily at my skin. _

**_Do you really want to see what's in there that badly? _**

_My eyes trail over to the light spilling from the room, __**I'll never know who that man was if I don't…**__ With a gulp, I hesitantly start my walk back up again – I always was a troublesome thing._

_Every step I took left me more and more anxious, keeping me second guessing my decision to pursue the mysterious man. I couldn't turn back now, though, for in just a few strides I had already arrived – in front of me was the room. I lay a hand against the doorframe, taking a deep breath to calm my jumbled nerves prior to taking a step into the light. _

_"__LUCY!"_

_I practically jump out of my skin at the shriek and quickly spin around to find the source of the yell, staring down the horrified Porlyusica clad in an apron and wielding a spatula. The old hag narrows her wide scarlet eyes in anger as she briskly stomps down the hall, her currant skirts trailing behind her, and with a 'harrumph'; she grabs me by the ear, dragging me away from the room. _

_I seethe in pain due to her strong grip on my ear lobe, "Ow – Porlyusica…"_

_"__Don't 'Porlyusica' me, girl!" The grumpy woman snaps, her red eyes practically burning me with her heated look that promptly shuts me up. Once we enter the foyer, she thankfully releases her hold on my ear – that I happily replace my own hand with to massage some blood back into it – and whips around to stick her rubber spatula in my face as she mutters darkly, "I told you not to go into the West wing and what do you do? You go in the West wing."_

_I gulp, __**she never said that! When did she say that? **__I think back to all of the rules she listed to me earlier that day, only remembering there being five though none of them were about the West wing. Licking my lips in a somewhat apprehensive manner, I correct the feisty elder, "A-actually, you never told me that."_

_Her brow furrows in thought – probably pondering her memory from our first encounter – as she glares into my eyes, mumbling, "Are you sure?" I nod at Porlyusica, who then drops her spatula and turns on her heel, calling over her shoulder to me as she begins her descent down the stairs, "Well, now you know rule number six then; don't go into the West wing for anything."_

**_So many odd rules_**_, I think to myself and before I can think it over, I blurt out, "Why?"_

_I watch as Porlyusica freezes on her spot on the stairs, and without turning to face me she asks, "'Why' what?"_

_I nibble on my bottom lip, internally calling myself an idiot for saying anything while opening my mouth to explain my one-worded question, "Why is the West wing off limits?"_

_Porlyusica remains silent, her eyes clouding over as if she were lost in thought while her wrinkly hand wraps itself tighter around the handrail. I watch as the woman's jaw clenches and as her already watery eyes glaze over with unshed tears. She takes so long to answer, that for a moment, I wonder if she didn't hear me and move to repeat the query, but she beats me to it, answering in a monotone voice, "Come," she gestures for me to follow her, "dinner is ready."_

**888**

**_I could stay here forever_**_, I think to myself as I spin around in the center of the mansion's library. The library was by far, the largest one I have ever seen nor been in for that matter, and I think I might just be falling in love with the damned room. _

_The ceiling was held three stories above the dark cherry floorboards as a massive mural depicting a battle between Heaven's warriors and Hell's evildoers, the soldiers overlooking four walls filled to the brim with literature. On the wall opposite of the entrance were two floor-to-ceiling windows squeezed in between the bookshelves with benches sitting at the bottom of them, and to the left of the entrance, a towering, stone fireplace broke the shelving down the middle with the head of a large moose hung on its face. In the center of the room lay a seating area that consisted of two, evergreen couches parallel to one another and two maroon, high-back chairs with a monstrous coffee table in the middle. There was also an untouched desk piled high with withering paperwork from long ago kept to the side of the room for anyone who might've wished to use the library as a study. _

_It's in this moment in which I question just _how _much money Porlyusica _has_ to afford all of this. It would've been a good conversation starter during dinner considering the woman would politely direct any of my attempts at small talk out the door – clearly the elder was not in the mood. I couldn't help but feel a tiny bit guilty for her temporary state since she was clearly reminiscing on the memory I sparked through my question to her. I have no idea as to what the memory was of, but if I had to take a guess, it was of something traumatizing that occurred in the West wing. _

_I really am an idiot – and a bothersome one, at that._

_With a sigh, I shake my head out of those thoughts and strut over to the nearest shelf, deciding that I needed a new book to read besides __**The Mummy**__, __**Interview with a Vampire**__, and __**The Witching Hour**__. I mean, Anne Rice was an amazing author, but I've read the same three books so many times that I've memorized entire monologues from them. _

_I let my hand trace over the spines of the books whose titles I merely skim over, not really paying attention as to which novel I was going to choose as I shuffle down the row until something within me tells me to come to a stop, and I oblige. My hand rests on the lucky hardcover that I was to take and I gently pull out the book, turning to see not the title of a story, but of a play; __**Macbeth**__. _

_I snort softly, amused that I was jumping from Anne Rice to Shakespeare due to a silly luck of the draw. Still, I don't put it back. _

_Instead I open the front cover and begin to read Act One, my carob eyes drinking in the words as if to savor every line while my legs – which I am beginning to believe have a mind of their own – travel around the room, dragging my free hand along more spines of more books with it. I only take my hand away from the shelves to aid in flipping the page and even then my hand goes right back to gliding over the plethora of tales. I already know this action is going to become a bad habit of mine._

_I stop in front of one of the windows as I read the last lines of the first scene, bringing my head to rest against the bookshelf while my 'free' hand joins my other one in holding the play. The scene finishes and I nibble on my bottom lip in thought, trying to decide as to how I felt about the three haggard witches. Honestly, I didn't know enough about them to make any opinions that wouldn't be considered biased, so I decide to merely read on, but before I do, I steal a glance at my reflection in the mirror and feel my heart stop._

_Next to my reflection was the one of a young man around my age. He stood a full head taller than me, with an angular chin, thin lips, and a slim – slightly crooked – nose; like the nose of a fighter who had taken a blow one too many times in the face. His skin was tawny, which contrasted oddly well with his exotic, salmon locks splayed sloppily on his head, and his eyes were a deep, onyx color. His eyes that stared into my chocolate ones with such intensity I thought I would lose myself in them. I only saw that look in the stranger from today…_

_My eyes widen as I spin around to face him, merely to be met with nothing._

**_Where… where did he go?_**

**888**

I shoot out of the water, gasping for the air I was deprived of. Clutching the sides of the tub, I try to steady my erratic breathing and lean against the back of it, only to frantically sit back up to pull out the plug at my feet, releasing the cooling water. At the familiar sound of the water filtering into the little hole, I feel myself calm down; the ordinary sound anchoring me after my abnormal day.

I bring my knees to my heaving chest and let my head rest on the tops of them, a tired sigh escaping my lips as my eyes slide to a close. I couldn't wrap my mind around it – one second he was there, and the next… I groan. It was impossible. What I saw was impossible. No one just disappears from one moment to the next – I would be insane to believe that.

That's why it was all in my head. I imagined the entire ordeal – from seeing him in the West wing to seeing him in the window, it was all just my mind toying around with me, trying to get me riled up in this new foster home so I would try to ditch it faster. Also, it could be that my brain just decided to be an ass – which wouldn't be the first time, either.

That's the only realistic solution – the only one that makes sense. The other solution – which I haven't even considered – is that all of that actually happened. Which it couldn't have since, again, people don't just poof out of existence.

_Are you saying that because it didn't happen or because you're in denial?_ The back of my mind whispers to me. I frown; couldn't it just shut up for once? The entire day it's been bothering me, making me second guess myself, and I've just about had it with my subconscious.

With a groan, I rest my chin on my knees and rub my face with my hands. _Still_, I think to myself, _they do have a point_. I may not want to, but I know that little voice is right. I'm in denial – I'm shutting down all of the possible thoughts supporting that this is real because everything I've learned _says_ it's not real. Everything I've been taught supports my first solution, and yet my subconscious is still insisting that the latter is the truth.

The gurgle of the last of the water falling down the drain breaks me out of my notions and I crack an eye open to search for my towel, spotting it on the sink's granite counter next to me. I grab the fluffy, ivory cloth and climb out of the tub to dry myself before slipping on the clothes I had brought into the bathroom with me. It was a simple pair of pajamas – an old, navy tank with black sweats that made me stand-out in the pristine room – and I grab my brush out of the alabaster drawer before padding out of the bathroom into my bedroom, feeling a cold gust of air greet me as I do.

With a shiver, I glance over to the windows to find one of them wide open. I hadn't opened any windows, and with a scowl I blame the matter on the wind rather than some supernatural cause – I _had_ read somewhere that the wind_ was_ stronger in Northern Fiore. Sauntering over, I shut the double casement and latch it closed as to ensure that it wouldn't open again.

I begin to brush my damp hair, my cold fingers warming slightly at the heat still emitting from my head as aftereffects of the bath, when I realize I had forgotten to unpack one last thing and move to retrieve my back pack that I had stuffed into the bottom drawer of the practically empty dresser. I pull open the green bag with one hand – which is harder than it sounds – and begin to blindly sift through it until I find what I was looking for; my fingers grazing the cool, circular rim.

My hand wraps around it and I gently shake my hand out of the bag, opening my fist to reveal a ring. It was a simple, golden band that had been engraved with the words, '_Amor Aeternus_,' which was Latin for, '_Eternal Love_.' I have had the ring for as long as I could remember, wearing it on a chain around my neck when I was younger until my fingers grew large enough to fit inside of it, but I had to stop wearing it a few years back since there was an increasing amount of theft reports in Crocus. Yet, I always kept it on me, a sense of dread overcoming me whenever I didn't. After all, it was one of the few constants in my ever-changing life.

Now, though, I could wear the band freely, and with a smile dancing along my lips, I move to slide the ring onto my right ring finger, only to have my smile fall as I fumble with the piece of jewelry, watching it drop to the floor prior to rolling away. My eyes widen as I jump into action, scrambling after the ring on all fours.

"No, no, no…!" I mutter under my breath, hastening my movements until I get close enough to swipe the runaway and slide it onto my finger in one swift movement. With my eyes shut tightly, I sigh in relief; clutching my right hand to my chest as I clamber to my feet and open my eyes to a towering, concealed object in front of me.

_What the…? _With a furrowed brow, I hesitantly place my brush on the ground in order to grasp the tarp covering the thing with both hands and with a gulp, tug on it, causing it to come crashing to the ground along with a cloud of thick dust forming in its wake. Coughing while trying to fan the rest of the waste away from my face, the billow eventually clears and I find myself gazing… at myself – the object was a mirror.

The mirror wasn't anything extravagant – which came as a surprise to me, considering the house it sat in. It was an elongated circle of glass that just cleared the ceiling, held upright by a white, wooden stand with parts of the top of it broken off and cracked. One fissure favoring the left traveled down the entirety of the mirror, following the curve until about six inches from the bend where it suddenly stops.

I lift my stare from the crack near my feet to my umber eyes, cocking my head when I see a splash of a lighter brown in my left iris. It's when I tilt my head the other way do I finally register that it was a smudge on the mirror causing it as the light brown dot travels across my face instead of remaining within my eye. Chuckling at my own stupidity, I raise a hand to graze the dried-on residue, not anticipating the image that flashes in my mind.

It was of a young man – no, he wasn't any young man… he bore sloppy salmon locks and mysterious ebony eyes; it was the man from today. It was of that stranger and he was clad in tight, leather pants with a loose, white shirt stained crimson covering his muscular frame. He was huddled over a body – a female, judging from her full build failing to be disguised behind an outfit similar to his own, though she had a thick cloak pooled around her shoulders – and a look of pure despair was painted across his features as his hands pressed against a wound pouring scarlet blood from her chest. His brows were knitted together above his dark eyes spilling over with tears and his mouth was wide in a cry of anguish. I felt my heartstrings pull for the man until I saw where his gaze led to. His eyes were trained upon the young woman's face; her face which consisted of a button nose, doe eyes, parted full lips, and was connected to a head full of thick, golden locks.

He was looking at me.

_I really am going insane._


End file.
